The Diagnostics of Intimacy
by Hazuna Wotoro
Summary: Sequel to Confusion. (Takes place after Lockdown, S6Ep16.) Wilson takes House back to his condo one night, and things between them get complicated. Now the two of them have become more than friends, and they're trying to keep it a n they do it, though? House/Wilson SLASH. Don't like, Don't read. **Doesn't follow the actual story line.
1. Wilson's Place

House impatiently shoved Wilson against the wall, and then proceeded to kiss him again. This time, House slid his tongue into his newly-found lover's mouth, savoring the taste of his vanilla chap stick once more. In an almost ritualistic dance, their tongues mingled for a whole five minutes before House finally decided to allow his friend some oxygen. One hand landed on Wilson's waist, and the other was placed on the wall behind him for balance. As Wilson tried to catch his breath, he felt House's rough jawline rub against his face, immediately followed by House trailing down his neck with kisses.

"Is this… Really happening?" Wilson panted.

House leaned back, staring directly into his eyes. He'd never noticed how purely brown they were before.

"Yes." He replied, quickly resuming his position in the crook of Wilson's neck.

"How… How do I know that you aren't just messing with me?" Wilson asked, diverting his gaze towards the blinds covering the entrance to the office. "Is this just some lame way to humiliate me?"

House stopped what he was doing, raised his head, and let out a single sigh. Wilson received nothing more than a blank stare from the diagnostician for what seemed like ten minutes. And as they both just stood there, Wilson realized that none of this was a bluff. House was having legitimate difficulties expressing himself, but Wilson was able to read the look on his face quite easily.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by his socially fucked-up friend.

"I'm gay, Wilson."

Humility lingered in House's voice, and Wilson could see the shame. He could tell by the seriousness of House's tone; by the crack in his voice when he said it. House wasn't messing around anymore. He was undoubtedly homosexual. For a moment Wilson actually felt bad for his friend, but then he realized what a magnificent breakthrough this was. House was actually reaching out, taking hold of his emotions, and… He was expressing them!

"House!"

Startled, House flinched away at the sudden rise of the oncologist's voice.

"This is great," Wilson exclaimed, grabbing his friend's shoulders and shaking him," Awe-awesome!"

Gregory House did not seem so amused. He just seemed to linger there, staring blankly at Wilson's abdomen. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but Wilson had no idea what he was thinking about. He only hoped that he hadn't somehow given House an epiphany about a patient, which would be led by House leaving the room immediately; no excuse necessary. That's usually what happened after House had that look on his face.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"Wait."

"Huh? Wait?"

"Sh!" House insisted, putting his index finger over the overactive mouth of Wilson's.

The room seemed to fill with silence, and then both of them heard it. There was a mysterious scratching noise at the door. Immediately, both of them realized exactly what it was. Wilson looked to House for some sort of solution, but he seemed to be preoccupied picking up his cane and walking back to his desk. Frantically, Wilson picked up his shirt, putting both of his arms through. Before he could button it, however, the door to House's office opened. Without any idea of what to do, Wilson fell to the ground and laid still.

"Thirteen! Why do you think people lock their doors?" House asked.

Hadley opened her mouth to explain, but ended up asking if Wilson was alright, instead. House simply gave her one of his genuinely malevolent smiles, telling her that he had drugged him. Chase made a long face, which read that it only seemed logical. Hadley pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow, leaning down to examine the body motionless on the floor.

Grabbing Wilson's wrist, she stared at her watch for a minute. His pulse was normal. She assumed that House sedated him- although not sure why- and stood up again. Drugs as such seemed to be the only logical reason that Wilson would be laying on the floor. Fortunately, she wasn't very interested in his tie being thrown on the floor a foot away, and his shirt unbuttoned.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was okay in here."

"Why wouldn't it be?" He asked with suspicion.

Chase looked at his co-worker, then returned his gaze to House. From the aussie's perspective, his co-worker and his boss seemed to be hiding something, and he had no idea what it possibly could be pertaining to.

"What-"

"Me and Thirteen need to talk," House replied, indicating that he wanted him to leave.

Reluctantly, Chase left the office, a little disappointed that he wasn't allowed in on whatever the secret was. He decided to wait for his colleague down the hall, sitting on a wooden bench near the nurse's station.

As soon as the office door was shut, House returned his attention to the female intruder.

"Why would you do that?" He replied with an authentic curiosity.

"You know why," She replied, "I wanted to mess with Wilson."

"No, I get that," House said while leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, "But I don't get why you would let him kiss me without watching."

"What?"

"Well, first of all: Wilson came in here and automatically told me to lie about it. Second of all, if you actually believed that he'd do it, wouldn't you want to watch? Being bisexual and all, I'd assume that kind of thing turns you on."

"You're an ass."

"I know," House replied victoriously.

Without another word, she dropped the entire conversation and left the room. House returned his attention to the middle-aged oncologist on the floor in the middle of his office. He cleared his throat to gain attention. Wilson opened his eyes, looking up at the magnificently improvisational man sitting at the desk.

"You can quit doing that now."

"I know," Wilson replied, "But I'm sort of comfortable."

"You call _me_ illogical…"

Wilson got up from the ground and put his hands on his hips. Filled with almost disbelief of his friend's actions, his expression was one of pure disapproval.

"House, they believed that you drugged me."

"That's the point."

"No, the point is, you _are_ illogical. They shouldn't believe that you'd drug me so easily. But you've done it numerous times before, so they have no reason not to believe you. That isn't just incomprehensively illogical, it's insurmountably unethical!"

"Could we skip the fight and get straight to the make-up sex?" House retorted with an arrogant snide.

Wilson looked surprised. All the same, House had managed to create quite a lot of sexual tension. It was undeniable that he now craved fulfilling the urge to finish what they had started.

"Not here," he replied while buttoning his shirt, "Let's take it to your place."

House cocked an eyebrow, almost incredulous of the consensualism.

"Your place is nicer," He retaliated.

Wilson sighed.

"Fine. My place."


	2. Cold Weather

Thirteen and Chase watched curiously as House dragged Wilson out of his office. He was holding the poor man's tie like it was a leash; leading Wilson as if he were a misbehaved dog. He led his friend down the hall and into an elevator, disappearing behind the thick metal doors as soon as he pushed the elevator button that would take them to the first floor. Doctor Hadley continued to stare at the elevator doors until Chase nudged her, asking if she had any idea of what was going on.

"Did he look like somebody who just came out of a drug-induced sleep?" She asked in reply.

"Not at all. He wasn't stumbling around, and he didn't even seem to be mad."

"I don't think House drugged him," Thirteen concluded with an arousing suspicion.

"But why would he lie about that?"

"An even better question would be why Wilson was on the floor."

"He's messing with you," Replied a familiar voice from around the corner.

Chase and Thirteen turned around to face Foreman, who was holding a plethora of files. They were all from the ER, and he had been sent to evenly distribute them throughout House's team. Since House had the rest of the night off, they were stuck with the survivors of a nearby sink-hole accident, which had caused half of a building to collapse. In accordance, there were almost seventy patients in the ER as they spoke.

Handing his colleagues four files each, Foreman continued to explain his theory: House made up an entire situation which had no logical explanation, because he knew that it would annoy the hell out of them when they couldn't explain it. He did it all of the time. The only difference this time was that Wilson decided to get involved, as well. Why? Well, to get back at Thirteen for trying to force him into completing the asinine dare, obviously.

"Wait," Chase said while fervently sticking his hand out, "Why did you know about this before I did?"

"Why are you still making such a fuss about it?" Thirteen challenged.

Foreman just rolled his eyes. After holding his ER files in a gesture that read ''I've got more important things to do,'' he turned to leave. Thirteen decided that it would probably be best for her to do the same thing before Chase had a chance to retort. She followed Foreman in the direction of the ER, leaving Chase to ponder his shortcomings alone.

House waited near the entrance to PPTH as Wilson ran back to his office to get his coat, which had somehow managed to completely slip his mind,even though it was blizzard weather outside. In fact, it was only a few days from Christmas; the ground covered in almost a foot of snow. The ugly little flakes of crystallized water made House groan bitterly as he realized that he was going to have to walk through it to get to Wilson's car.

Impatiently, he got up from the uncomfortable bench he had been sitting on and hobbled over to the elevators, where he continued to wait for Wilson another twenty minutes. When he decided that enough time had passed, House pushed the elevator button and waited for the first available ride up to the second floor, where Wilson would be. Fortunately, Wilson came with the first elevator to arrive.

"What took you so long?" House asked rather rudely.

"I couldn't find my car keys," Wilson replied with a look of annoyance, "Know where I found them?"

He stepped ahead of House and stood in front of him with his arms crossed, silently accusing him of taking them.

"Wasn't me."

"I found them in your office."

"Must've been Taub."

"Why would Taub take my car keys?"

"Why _wouldn't _he?" House asked, walking around him.

"House…"

Wilson turned around and followed, stifling the urge to kick his cane from underneath him. As soon as they were outside, House reluctantly explained that one of his patients had slashed his tires earlier. When Wilson asked why that led to the abduction of _his _vehicle, House simply told him that he had wanted to go out for lunch.

"Are you only telling me this in order to resolve the conflict because you know that if I get any angrier I might not sleep with you?"

"If that were the case, I'd just slip something into your drink."

Wilson fell silent, stopped walking, and gave House a look of disbelief.

"Relax," House quickly countered, "I'm just kidding."

"I certainly hope so," Wilson said as he continued walking.

House rolled his eyes. When they finally reached the car, Wilson jammed his keys into the door and unlocked it manually, which perplexed House to some extent. He found it even more odd as Wilson got into the vehicle and jammed the keys in the ignition without unlocking the rest of the vehicle. Assuming that his friend was planning on leaving without him, House bent down and knocked on the window.

Wilson cranked up the heat and leaned back in his seat. He didn't plan on leaving, but letting House suffer in the cold for a few minutes longer seemed like it would be amusing.

"Wilson!"

He pounded on the window again, receiving nothing more than a mischievous smile from the man in the driver's seat.

"You're gonna pay for this," He mumbled through chattering teeth.

After a few moments of relishing the moment, the oncologist finally unlocked the rest of the vehicle, allowing House to get in. He put the car in reverse, backed out, and then prepared to listen to the incessant whining of his nearby friend. House exaggeratingly complained about his earlier attempt to freeze him to death, but remained unusually quiet the rest of the way. Wilson was surprised, but didn't dare to challenge the silence.

Only when they were officially parked in front of the condo did the oncologist speak up.

"So, why did you _really_ take my car keys?"

"I told you why."

Wilson opened the door and stepped out, closing the door behind him as he stood up and peered over the vehicle. He patiently watched as House stood up and shut the car door. Both of them looked at each other for a moment.

"What's the real reason?" Wilson urged.

House turned around and started walking towards the building, gesturing for him to follow.


	3. Six Inches

When Wilson woke up the next morning, he rolled over to meet an unexpectedly empty bed. Confused, he sat up and looked around, wondering where the man could have wandered off to. Hopefully he hadn't ended up in the neighbor's bed again. Realizing that House could be naked in the a child's bed somewhere, Wilson hopped out of bed and slipped on a pair of underwear, running out of the bedroom. Fortunately, he found his unpredictable friend in the kitchen.

Of course he was in the kitchen.

He was digging through the refrigerator, although already eating something that Wilson had planned to take for lunch today.

"Why?" He asked hopelessly.

House took the question as rhetorical, since he knew that Wilson was already aware of the fact that it was his duty to devour all of his delicious goodies. So instead of answering the question, he posed another.

"Could you make some of those pancakes that I love so much?"

"I _can_ make pancakes. In fact, I'm really good at it. But_ will_ I make pancakes? No."

"_Please_?"

"You're already eating my lunch!"

House looked down at the roasted piece of half-eaten bird he was holding.

"I made this," He replied in an attempt to earn himself some pancakes.

Wilson's expression read pure annoyance. He had cooked that before going into work yesterday, and had planned on eating it for lunch later this evening. Now that it had been half-devoured, however, he knew that he'd have to cook something else or buy from the cafeteria. It would be cheaper to cook something at home. And while he was doing that, he'd cook House some pancakes. Before admitting so, however, he wanted House to tell him the truth.

"What is it, then?" Wilson challenged.

House smacked his lips as he reminisced in the flavor for a moment. He knew that it was some sort of poultry. It was grilled, and there was some sort of glaze covering it. It tasted like fruit, but he had no idea what the exact formula was. Instead of admitting immediate defeat, however, he decided to claim an amusing recipe.

"Grilled chicken glazed with a magnificent flavoring of chunky menstrual blood."

Wilson gagged, almost puking at the very thought of his colleague eating something covered in menstruation. This received a significant amount of amusement from the malevolent food thief, who waited until his friend was done gagging to attempt an actual recipe. He then claimed that he was eating a dark meat piece of chicken covered in a fruity glaze. He remained vague on the glaze because he still had no idea what it was.

"Nice try," Wilson replied as he recovered from the disgust, "But it's roasted duck covered in a raspberry glaze."

House shrugged, making a face that suggested he couldn't care less. Closing the refrigerator door, he asked Wilson one more time if he could make him some pancakes. Being the undeniably generous person that he was, Wilson walked over to the fridge and pulled out some eggs. House watched victoriously as his friend pulled out the rest of the ingredients necessary to make pancakes.

"I'm assuming you haven't been awake long," Wilson said while distributing an even amount of vegetable oil into a large saucepan.

"I called you off work," House replied.

Wilson turned his attention away from the stove top, giving House a curious look.

"Technically I text-messaged you off work."

"Why?"

House pointed to the saucepan, telling Wilson that he wouldn't eat them if they were burnt. Reluctantly, the oncologist turned his attention back to the pancake mix sizzling in the non-stick pan he was holding. He supervised the gooey mixture until deciding that it was ready to flip over. After flipping it over, he turned his attention back to House, who was finishing off the roasted duck he had stolen moments earlier.

"I shouldn't be doing this for you."

"You can't help it," House argued, "You're wired to be nice to people. Even if those people are shitty to you and they don't deserve it…"

Wilson turned his attention back to the pancake. Pulling a decorative plate out of the cupboard, he used the spatula to peel the circular piece of culinary artwork out of the pan and put it on the plate. He then proceeded to fill the pan with more oil, knowing that House would want more than a single pancake for breakfast. Sure, he was in relatively good physical shape, but the man was capable of eating a lot of food. Wilson knew that from experience.

Carefully, Wilson poured more of the pancake mix into the bubbling oil, which created a violent hissing noise in return.

"You can be shitty sometimes, House. But you aren't a bad person."

He didn't get a response; the conversation evolving into something too emotionally intimate for Gregory House to know how to react. Wilson didn't mind the absence of a reply, though. He had been friends with House for several years, and knew that it was only typical for him to become unresponsive when placed into such a position. In an attempt to eradicate House's discomfort, Wilson decided to stop talking. When the silence was finally broken, it was unfortunately done so by House making an adulterated remark about Wilson's oral abilities.

"I thought you were straight. Yet you seem to have experience. Or maybe you're just naturally talented with your mouth?"

Wilson dropped the spatula in awe, his cheeks turning bright red as all of the blood rushed to his face. Even knowing how incredibly pervasive he could be, Wilson never would have expected him to use_ that _to break the silence. And now that he did, Wilson felt increasingly awkward.

House smiled, achieving the reaction he had been expecting. Slowly, Wilson picked up the spatula and flipped the pancake over. He tried his best to ignore House's perverse acknowledgment by focusing on the bubbling piece of goop in his pan. It failed, however, when House decided to continue talking. Wilson was forced to endure the one-sided conversation; humiliation formed by the fact that House was using his inexperience with homosexuality as a means to mess with him. He kept pointing out insignificant little details of Wilson's sexual exploits.

Details like the fact that Wilson was relatively talented at shoving six inches down his throat.


	4. Interruption of the Argument

Wilson sat down at the kitchen table, facing his guest. He slid the plate of pancakes over to House, proceeding to do the same with a large container of maple syrup. Watching with much intent, he waited until House had sampled the food before asking if it was any good. In reply, House just shrugged. Wilson could tell that they were more than shrug-worthy, however, as his guest began shoving his mouth full of the scrumptious fluffiness.

Satisfied, Wilson put his elbow on the edge of the table and used his forearm as a support for his head. He continued to stare at House for a while, only looking away when being rudely asked to stop. As he continued to let his mind wander, however, Wilson finally spoke up.

"I think we should talk."

House groaned, realizing exactly where this conversation was heading. Just because they had slept together, Wilson was going to make him endure the "Relationship Talk". Wilson was going to make him endure a long, agonizing discussion about what had happened last night. Then Wilson would force him into an even deeper conversation about what House saw it as, what House was going to do with it, and maybe even if House wanted to continue it. Well, House knew the answer to all of the above.

But he wasn't about to comment on _any _of them.

"I'm serious, House."

"You don't look serious."

Wilson's expression turned rock-solid. He sat up and straightened his posture, crossed his arms, and pursed his lips. While waiting for a reply, he continued to stare at House until finally receiving what he had wanted.

"What do ya wanna talk about, Jimmy?"

"I just…"

"Yeah?"

"I…"

"Oh, come on. Spit it out, already."

"This should stay secret."

House repaired his own posture, cocking an eyebrow in surprise. Wilson wasn't usually the type to deny sexual affairs with somebody. He had always seen it as shallow. However, House couldn't help but agree; knowing that if any of his subordinates or colleagues found out...

The very thought of it was scary.

"No problemo."

Wilson nodded, and then turned to the next subject at hand.

"What are we going to do about this?"

"Do about _what_?" House asked, insensitively implying that there was no significance to last night's events.

"What does that mean?" Wilson asked.

"I slept with you," House explained, " It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes it is, House. We-"

"Shared nothing more than a sexual experience. You were a booty call, Wilson."

House turned his attention back to the pancakes. He took a few more bites and then turned his attention to Wilson, who was now standing.

"You should leave," Wilson said indignantly.

Defensively, House stood up and argued that he was being irrational. The very thought of such ignorance only seemed to piss Wilson off even more. He ended up losing his temper, and started yelling.

"Irrational! House, you just slept with me, and then told me that it didn't mean anything to you!"

"Because it didn't!"

Impulsively, Wilson stepped forward and shoved him. House staggered back, but didn't fall.

"What the hell was that for?"

"For being an ignorant prick."

House shoved him harder.

"_That _was for being an idiot."

Without warning, Wilson lunged forward and grabbed him. House stiffened, closing his eyes tightly as he waited for Wilson to hit him. He relaxed, though, as soon as the familiar warmth of Wilson's lips landed on his own. It definitely wasn't what he had been expecting, but he wasn't about to protest. In fact, he even went as far as to kiss him back.

"Yep," Wilson replied rather satisfactory, "_Really _seems like it means nothing to you."

The room fell completely silent until House regretfully replied with:

"I wish it _didn't_."

Both confused and a little hurt by House's reaction, Wilson just stood there.

_I really wish I didn't like you, Wilson, _House thought to himself, _because I don't want to end up hurting you._


	5. Dirty Little Jew

It wasn't unlike Gregory House to take chances. Albeit, he usually never worried about the chances he'd make. However, he knew that taking a chance by actually letting him and Wilson's relationship bloom into something else could end up terribly. The two of them could end up resenting each other with a burning passion, and he just wasn't sure that losing Wilson was _worth_ the upgrade. Once he had told Wilson this, however, there was no turning back. The oncologist was bent on making this relationship work, and simply would not take "No" for an answer. In fact, those were the very words Wilson had used.

"_I will not take no as an answer."_

House agreed, but only after Wilson swore that he wouldn't hate him for anything that may end up destroying their romance. (As long as House wasn't deliberately sabotaging it.)

"_Just like you tried yesterday," _Wilson had said earlier, _"Starting a fight just to prevent me from getting closer."_

Yes, that had been House's plan. But you can't blame the man for rational thinking. Certainly, he knew how destructive he was to himself and the people around him. It was only reasonable for him to think that it would be healthier if Wilson stayed away from him. Truthfully, it probably _would_ be healthier for people to stay away from the insanity of House's personal life.

But now Wilson and House were official, and –even as they approached the entrance to PPTH- the two of them felt like it could work; they would manage it. Wilson had plenty of rules, though. Such as:

"Don't grab my butt in public."

He glared at House from the corner of his eye. Slowly, the diagnostician removed his hand from his protégé's ass and snickered. He reached towards the man's crotch, but was effectively interrupted when Wilson swatted his hand away.

"I'm serious, House. Don't."

"I know, I know."

Entering through the front doors of the hospital, House and Wilson put on their usual argumentative attitudes towards each other. As they made their way to the elevator, House composed a harsh remark about Wilson's mother, and received an equally harsh remark about his own. Things seemed just like normal as they stepped into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close. Then- as soon as that thick, metal door was shut again- they looked at each other and smiled.

Wilson pushed the button that would take them up to the floor their offices were located, and then turned his attention back to House, who was still giving him a creepy smile that resembled something more of a rape-face. It made him feel uncomfortable, so he took a side-step away.

"Y'know," House teased, "We're all alone in here."

"Don't." Wilson replied with another look of disapproval.

House shrugged, going back to daydreaming about patients with interesting symptoms. As the elevator met their floor, it chimed a single tone and House turned to face his friend once more. He stepped towards Wilson to close the space, wrapped his arm around him, and whispered into his ear.

"Seeya later, you dirty little Jew," He said in a low, seductive tone that made the hair stand up on Wilson's neck.

After getting the reaction he had hoped for, the diagnostician stepped out of the elevator and hobbled down the hall. Entering through the glass door of his office, he dropped his blue book bag onto a chair.

"Good morning, my minions!" He yelled out at the sight of his four subordinates sitting at the glass table placed ever so eloquently in the middle of his office.

Everybody except Foreman seemed a bit surprised at his good mood.

"So, what do you have for me today?"

Thirteen handed him a medical file, updating him on the patients symptoms: Fever, fatigue, decreased appetite, and an achy body. House diagnosed the girl with Mono, and threw the file behind his back.

''Next," House demanded while looking at the forty-something short one with a large nose.

"His abdomen is…covered in bruising?"

"Is that a question?"

"No, sir. It's just…that's all. Not very interesting."

House furrowed his brows, concentrating on something. After a while, Taub asked if there was something wrong. House snapped out of the trance, and took the case file out of his hand. Thirteen practically jumped out of her seat, annoyed that he was accepting the most uninteresting file they had.

"That's why it's so interesting," House replied.

"It's interesting," She said incoherently, "Because it's not interesting?"

"Exactly."

Opening the file, House was offered a picture of a young man's abdomen. The bruises were dark, and looked very painful.

"What kind of trauma?" House asked with genuine curiosity.

"There wasn't any," Tab replied.

House looked up from the case and took his time examining all four of his employees. Nobody seemed to challenge Taub's assumption, so he did.

"Did he _tell_ you that?"

"Yes."

"Everybody lies," House replied, closing the case file and slapping it onto the table.

Telling Taub and Foreman to go and talk to their new patient, House allowed Thirteen and Chase the opportunity to do whatever the hell they wanted until the other minions got back. He then proceeded to walk into his personal office and sit down at the desk. It was there that he waited for almost half an hour before the results were back.

"Jackson's still adamant on no abuse," Foreman said as he led Taub into the office.

House looked up from his computer and gave his black minion a curious look.

"Who's Jackson?"

Taub rolled his eyes as his colleague had to explain that the boy they were trying to help did in fact have a name. His name just so happened to be Jackson. Not interested in such tedious things, House turned his attention to Taub, who was standing next to Foreman with a hint of arrogance.

"It could be a Hematoma," House noted.

Taub argued that Hematoma's were usually caused by blunt force, but House was still absurdly denying the fact that there was no physical trauma. Even if there was no supporting evidence, he would remain absolutely sure of it until proven wrong. Being said, the arrogant diagnostician demanded that they drain the boy's blood blisters and send him home.


	6. Christmas Invitation

Taub finished wrapping a large elastic compression bandage around their patient's waist, and then told him that he would need to keep the area free of abuse, and rested for the next week or two. He continued to tell him that it might help to keep an ice pack on it regularly, and that some over-the-counter pain pills would help relieve the discomfort. Other than that, they could leave as soon as the discharge papers were signed.

"These kind of things happen all of the time," foreman noted while disconnecting the boy's IV.

"That's right," Taub added, "It's just blood pooling in the tissue outside of a damaged blood vessel. Nothing malignant."

"How did he damage a blood vessel?" Jackson's mother asked worriedly.

Truthfully, the boy had gotten into a fight. He hadn't originally admitted to such, but Taub had finally managed to coerce the truth out of him after Foreman pulled his parents out of the room for a private conversation of their own.

When Taub admitted how serious the consequences could be if they treated him for something that he didn't have because of his inability to tell the truth, Jackson immediately confessed. There was an arrogant basketball player at his school, who had been flirting with his girlfriend. He had gotten into a fight with him after school, and beat the crap out of him. Not without taking a few hits himself, though. Most of them in the abdomen, evidently.

"_Why not just tell them that?" _Foreman had asked.

"_Are you kidding me? They'd kill me! Please don't tell them."_

Legally, Taub couldn't tell the parents anything because of doctor-patient confidentiality rules. So, looking over to the mother with his best poker face on, he told her that it happened all the time.

"Usually the blood vessel is damaged when there is physical trauma or abuse. However, that isn't always the case."

"Well, what_ is_ the case?" The father asked authoritively.

"We don't know," Taub replied, "But it's not likely to happen again."

"How likely is it that it _could _happen again?"

It wasn't unlike parents to be so annoyingly curious, but Taub was beginning to lose his patience with these ones. It seemed as if they didn't really trust his judgment. What he wanted to do was tell them the truth; wanted to inform them of the fact that nobody's child was perfect. Their child wasn't perfect, either. He had gotten into a minor fight at school, and…

But looking over at Jackson, Taub knew that he couldn't do that. He couldn't deal with the kid hating him, even if he didn't even know him.

"Look, he just as easily could've knocked against something and not noticed. Or maybe he got hurt and forgot about it."

Jackson let out a breath, relieved of his caretaker's kindness.

Fortunately, the father seemed satisfied with that as an answer. He didn't try to force anything else out of Taub for the rest of the time being. Foreman finished pulling the IV out, and then pulled the BP monitor off of the finger. Jackson was officially free of any medical equipment, and the minions were relieved to finally be done.

Neither of them were happy with the results, however. This case had been easy enough for anybody with the internet to find out, which definitely wasn't what the usual House-case consisted of. In fact, House's patients almost always ended up near death before they could find out the diagnosis. Not only that, but they'd also usually have to experiment on him/her for a week before finding out the solution.

"Maybe something's going on with him," Taub said as soon as they stepped out of the patient's room.

"He's fine. It was just a hematoma."

"Not him. I'm talking about House. Why would he have us on such a trivial case?"

Foreman shrugged.

"It isn't like him."

"Taub," Foreman replied curtly, "You worry about these kinds of things way too much."

"Why don't _you_?"

"Because that's what he wants us to do."

Taub realized that Foreman was right. House never would have taken a case like this unless he wanted them to agonize over the motives. And while they did so, House would be sitting back in his computer chair, legs propped up on his computer desk as he laughed to himself about their ignorant attempts to find an answer.

Well, Taub wasn't far from wrong. House_ was _off somewhere, laughing at them. But not in his own office. Actually, the conniving arrogant was gloating about his plans to drive Taub crazy in Wilson's office.

This was all to Wilson's displeasure, of course, because he was trying to talk to a patient.

"Could you please come back a little later?" Wilson pleaded.

The young female sitting at his desk turned around to face House, as well. House looked at her just long enough to acknowledge that she existed, then turned his attention back to the oncologist.

"Is she dying?"

The young woman nearly fell out of her chair in surprise. Wilson immediately apologized, then harshly scolded the unethical diagnostician for his insensitive approach.

"So, is that a yes?" House replied after choosing to ignore Wilson's reprimand.

Truly perturbed by his colleague's misbehavior, Wilson jumped out of his chair and excused himself from the office. His patient found herself humored by the spectacle. She found it especially amusing when Wilson grabbed House's arm and dragged him out of the office like he was dealing with a five-year-old child in dire need of some punishment. It seemed a fitting situation, since House came off as the type of person who needed to be disciplined for his immature actions on a regular basis.

"Now you listen to me," Wilson said after shoving House against the wall rather roughly "I'm not going to deal with you acting like such a pompous ass around my patients. You cannot _possibly _be so rude to them and then expect me to ignore your immature attitude without any repercussions."

"Oh," House purred, "You gonna punish me?"

Wilson closed his eyes and took a moment to calm his breathing. He knew that if he allowed himself to get any angrier, House might end up walking down the hall with a bloody nose.

"How about you behave yourself for the rest of the day," Wilson propositioned, "And we can go back to my place later?"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now why don't you go do something productive?"

"Actually, the minions are going to be looking for me. Could I hang out in there for a while?"

He gestured towards Wilson's office. Wilson immediately rejected the idea. After mulling it over for a few moments, House was able to concoct a brilliant idea that would benefit both of them.

"I'll stay out on the balcony. Just don't let anyone know where I am for the rest of the day."

This way, House would get to avoid the irksome subordinates for a while, and Wilson would even get the relief of House leaving him and his patients alone. All in all, it sounded like a relatively good idea. However, Wilson knew how he could tweak the plan to make things even more exciting.

"You're going with me to the Christmas party tonight."

House Grimaced, clearly unsettled by the very thought of being placed into such a situation.

"_Fuck _no," He replied.

But it wasn't like he had a lot of leverage.

"You'll go," Wilson said, "Or else you'll get triple clinic hours, _and _I'll let the minions know where you are."

"What? You can't-"

"You wanna bet? If I tell Cuddy what you just did, she'll be all over your ass. And I can easily have Foreman down here within three minutes."


	7. Cuddy's Search

House had been laying out on Wilson's balcony for several hours, basking in the evening sun and listening to old jazz music through a pair of cheap headphones connected to his MP3 player. It wasn't the most pleasurable vacation he had ever taken, but at least there was a miniature space heater to keep him warm. If it weren't for that little device emitting hot air, he'd probably be suffering from frostbite by now. Instead, he was making peace with the fact that he was going to be forced into attending a stupid celebration for some phony savior later on that evening.

Besides, it was relatively tranquil out there, where there were no dying people, no annoying diagnostics team. There was nobody to bother him as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away in the smooth, familiar sound of a saxophone making sweet love with keyboard melodies while the chilling air enveloped him in a sense of freedom.

Freedom… A sensation that the doctor didn't often get the chance to feel. What, with the constant indoctrination from the dean whenever he went behind her back to do an unauthorized test. Furthermore, the ability to think for himself not often exercised due to the fact that Wilson often took over as his conscience. So, yes, freedom was scarce in the world of Gregory House. Therefore, he had every right to want to stay out on the balcony, relishing his moment of freedom for as long as he liked.

"Where is House?" Cuddy demanded to know, barging into Wilson's office without warning.

The oncologist turned his attention from his patient and faced the dean. Not surprisingly, she was wearing a tight, form-fitting woman's suit. The same type of outfit that House would constantly tease her for wearing; dark grey skirt that stopped right above the knee with a matching blazer that went over a pink blouse, which was unbuttoned low enough to show a bit of her c-cup cleavage. Skimpy, yet just enough clothing to show that she was still a professional.

"I don't know where he is, Lisa. Please-"

She crossed her arms, which made the cleavage even more evident. Wilson's patient sat up in his chair and tried to get a better view.

"Where is House at, Wilson?"

Wilson sighed, massaging his temple stressfully. Quickly improvising, he thought up the first places House usually would wander off to.

"Did you check the morgue?"

"Yes."

Damn. Looked like he was going to have to try a little harder, then. Good thing House had a lot of hiding places…

"Is he with Coma-guy?"

"Nope. Already checked."

Wilson thought harder, wracking his brain for any possible hiding places that Cuddy may not have known about. After a few moments, a better question arose in his mind.

"Why do you want him so badly?"

"He's completely blown off clinic duty today! Not only that, but Foreman can't find him, and the team has no idea what to do-"

"I'll make up for his time in the clinic. Check the…wait."

Faking an epiphany, Wilson sat up with an artificial gleam of interest in his eyes.

"I bet he's in the clinic. He goes into the exam rooms to sleep all of the time. Not only that, but you'd never expect to find him there."

Cuddy nodded promptly and then turned to leave after thanking him for his help. He said that it was no problem, and then returned his attention to George, his thirty-seven year old patient with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. George smiled oddly, and then told Wilson that he thought the weird guy chilling out in the cold was Doctor House.

"He is," Wilson said with an insidious grin, "But what she doesn't know can't possibly hurt her."

House would have been proud.

"Did you find him, yet?" Foreman asked as he came around the corner to meet up with his boss's boss.

"Not yet," The dean replied with a flicker of annoyance.

He followed her into the clinic, where they both proceeded to check each and every exam room. House wasn't in any of the rooms. Nor was he residing in any janitorial closets, or supply niches. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. Being said, that left only one more place left to look.

"Go to his apartment," Cuddy ordered, "And tell him that if he doesn't get his ass back here, I will suspend him for three months, and then quadruple his clinic duty as soon as he gets back!"

"He isn't home," Foreman replied.

"And how do you know that?"

"It would be too easy."

"Well," Cuddy challenged, "That might just be the- "

She stopped mid-sentence and Foreman cocked an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. Cuddy furrowed her brow and thought real hard for several minutes. She realized that there had been one tiny mistake on her behalf. There was a clue in Wilson's office that she had caught, but not managed to process until now.

His blinds were closed.

"House is out on Wilson's balcony."

While the hospital's most mature employees were attempting to find the hospitals most immature employee, Wilson was offering him a coffee. House was a little skeptical about the man's true motives, but decided to accept his offer since it was increasingly cold outside.

"Is it riddled with Zoloft or something?"

"I promise I didn't put anything in it."

Cautiously, House took a sip. Then another.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Wilson replied, "It's the kind of thing friends do for each other."

House looked over at his friend and nodded.

"Done with patients for the day?"

"Yep."

Wilson sat on the ground next to House, even though it was below freezing outside and there was snow on the ground. He stared at into the sky with a loss for words.

"Look at me," House replied.

Curious, Wilson looked over at him. In immediate reply, House leaned in and planted a kiss. Longingly, Wilson kissed him back. Slowly, it turned into something a bit more intimate. House carefully set his coffee down and leaned back, tugging on his admirer. Eventually, he ended up lying flat on his back in the snow with Wilson straddling him.

Their spontaneous dip into romance was ended prematurely, however, when Wilson decided that he couldn't bear remaining in the cold any longer.

"Shall we continue inside?" House asked in the same seductive tone he had used to get Wilson all hot and bothered in the elevator that morning.

Unable to resist such a temptation, Wilson stood up and offered a hand.

"That sounds like a great idea."


	8. Superficial

"Gregory House, you are coming to the party with me, whether you like it or not!"

House nearly fell out of his chair, surprised that Wilson had managed to find the courage to yell at him after he had performed humiliating oral sex on him in one of the vacant sleep study rooms earlier. The man should have been snuggling him and smothering him with thanks, not scolding him for stubbornly choosing to remain in his lonely office instead of going to some stupid celebration for some insignificant birth of some phony prophet.

"No," House replied.

Wilson grimaced.

"House, if you don't get out of that chair right-"

"What are you going to do?" He asked arrogantly, Mockingly replying to his own question with another; "Is mean old Mr. Wilson gonna tell Cuddy on me?"

Unsurprisingly immaturely, the diagnostician made a pouty face. He proceeded to pretend like he was wiping tears away from his up, Wilson grabbed the abnormally large tennis ball off of the edge of House's desk, walked out onto the balcony, and chucked it as hard as he could. House looked like he was about to cry, his eyes widening in horror as the realization of the loss of his stress-reducing toy set in.

Wilson came back into the office and just stared at him.

"Why…_Why is the world so cruel?" _House cried as he slammed his head into the glass table he used as a desk.

"Get up and come on, or Mr. Ball won't be the last thing I throw out."

Morose with mourning over his materialistic loss, House stood up and grabbed his cane. After mustering the meanest looking expression he could, he grabbed his leather jacket and book bag, proceeding to follow 's murderer into the hallway. The area was abandoned; most employees currently taking part in the Christmas celebration.

"I'll get you another ball," Wilson replied, suddenly feeling guilty for violently pitching House's favorite toy into the harshness of winter.

"Why do you want me to go to this stupid thing so badly, anyway?"

"You need some friends," Wilson replied.

"All of the people down there hate me."

"Not _all _of them."

"Name one person who doesn't hate my guts."

"Thirteen," Wilson relied with ease, "Chase, Foreman, Taub…"

"That doesn't count. They work for me, so they either have to hate me, or deal with me and hate their jobs."

"Not true."

They stepped into the elevator and Wilson pushed the button that would take them to the first floor.

"Yes, true."

"House- Whether you like it or not- they_ love_ you. And you love them back, but you're too afraid to admit it. And I think that the only reason you don't want to go to this party is because you're afraid that you'll enjoy yourself."

"You better buy me a new ball."

"Stop deflecting."

"I'm _not_ deflecting."

"You were."

"I'm _atheist_, Wilson!"

"What the hell does that have to do with- Oh, you're talking about my original argument."

House congratulated him on his magnificent deducing skills.

"Atheism is not a valid argument," Wilson retorted.

House cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by his friend's implication.

"Look, you're going-"

"Whether I like it or not," House interrupted in a whiny, childlike tone. "Heard you the first five-thousand times, Jimmy."

"And we both know that you'll like it, because- like I established before- you'll enjoy hanging out with the team."

On that note, the elevator door opened, and Wilson grabbed his arm, dragging him into the main hallway. The diagnostics team was hanging out next to an obnoxiously decorated Christmas tree, seemingly uninterested in their superior's arrival.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Wilson greeted them with a bright smile.

Taub, Hadley,Foreman, and Chase. All four of the annoying minions were present.

"Hey, Wilson!" Chase replied.

The three others greeted the friendly doctor with smiles, and then turned their attention to House, whose pitiful grimace seemed out of place among the group of happy, celebratory beings. Thirteen was the first to actually acknowledge he was there. She hugged him, and then told him that she was happy he had chosen to come. House looked confused; the possibility that these people actually liked him a difficult thing to grasp. And then Chase also hugged him. Taub was smart enough to simply offer a handshake, and Foreman just nodded in House's direction.

He appreciated Foreman's greeting most.

"So," Foreman started, "Why _are_ you here?"

"House is here," Wilson replied, "For Jesus."

"You dragged him out of that cold, dark shell of an office in an attempt to help him socialize and gain friends. " Thirteen corrected.

"Exactly."

House groaned, becoming more irritable as time went by.

Wilson kindled a bubbly conversation with the group, and House mainly just watched and listened, not really paying attention. He sort of just drifted off into his own world as they discussed patients, or family, or past Christmas experiences. Nothing they were talking about would have interested him, anyway.

After a while, He slipped away from the group and ended up on a bench next to the front doors of PPTH; alone once again. It was approximately fifteen minutes before anybody approached him.

"Hey."

House looked up to meet gazes with Wilson, who was holding two Styrofoam cups filled with hot coffee. He had ditched the diagnostician's minions so that he could hang out with his depressively anti-social friend.

"Thanks."

Wilson handed him a cup, then sat down next to him.

"No problem, it's-"

"It's what friends do," House said for him.

Wilson just nodded, and then stared blankly at his own coffee cup for a moment.

"But we aren't friends, Wilson."

Shocked, Wilson returned his attention to the man sitting beside him.

"What do you-"

"I think we both know that it's way beyond that, now."

Silence ensued as Wilson found himself at a loss for words. He was simply surprised by the fact that House was actually acknowledging that there was a deeper meaning to the relationship that they had.

"House…I… I don't know what to say…"

"Just agree with me, you idiot."

He gave his friend a smile and nodded. Of course he agreed with him. Hell, Wilson knew that their intimacy was more than that way _before_ his friend did. After all, he was much more mature than House, and didn't have nearly as many issues with commitment, either.

"Hey guys," Thirteen interjected, "What you talking about?"

"Hello Doctor Hadley," Wilson replied, "How are you this evening?"

"Fantastic," She replied a little too cheerily.

House peered at her through squinted eyes, knowing that something was off. Almost as if she could read his mind, Thirteen told him that there was nothing to worry about; she was just making sure that Wilson fulfilled his civic duties. On that note, the young female doctor pointed at something above their heads. Both men looked up, finding that there had been a little green twig strategically placed about a foot from the top of their heads. It was leafy and had small white berries.

"Misteltoe…" House and Wilson replied simultaneously.

"Sure is."

House and Wilson returned their attention to Thirteen, who was waiting for the appropriate response.

"I hate you," Was Wilson's reply.

"I'm not kissing that idiot," House stated, "He'd enjoy it too much."

Wilson jerked his gaze over to House, silently scolding him. Thirteen continued to wait for the kiss, though, as she firmly planted her feet and crossed her arms. Finally, House noticed that the rest of the diagnostics team was staring at them.

"How much?" He asked.

"How much what?" Thirteen asked in reply.

"Money. How much money?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

House peered around her, finding that his subordinates were still watching him and Wilson closely, as if expecting something. So it was only reasonable for him to assume that Thirteen had told them about her attempt to get Wilson to kiss him. And if that was the case, then Chase would have undoubtedly opened a betting pool. If there was money in the picture, then House wanted in on it.

"They're clearly staring at me for some reason," House replied, "And I know it's because there's money involved, and the suspense here is killing them. So tell me how much is in the pool, and then I'll tell you my price."

"Twelve hundred. Three-hundred each."

"If you're lying to me, and I find out, I'll tell the rest of the team that you rigged it."

Wilson looked at Thirteen like she was crazy.

"You idiots are betting three-hundred dollars on a kiss!?" He replied.

"No," She looked over at the oncologist, "I'm betting three-hundred on the kiss. Those idiots are betting that it'll never happen. Six-hundred on them. Well, except for Chase."

"Chase?" House asked.

"Yeah, he knows that you'll do it."

"How so?"

"Because," Thirteen said like it was evident," He says that no matter what, House will kiss Wilson, because he knows that it will freak him out. And there's nothing that House enjoys more than being able to freak Wilson out."

House shrugged, knowing that it was true. Even though Wilson would no longer freak out if he kissed him, House truly didn't enjoy anything more than freaking his friend out.

"So," Thirteen continued, "If you kiss Wilson, I'll give you two-hundred.."

"Two-fifty," House haggled, "Plus an extra thirty-dollar incentive for not ratting you out."

"Twenty.''

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty!"

"How about you give me the thirty, and I'll slip in some tongue?"

Wilson shoved him and he almost fell off of the bench. Thirteen laughed, quite amused by how red Wilson's face was turning due to his friend's embarrassing remark. She apologized to Wilson for using him to make money, and then House told him that this all technically made him a prostitute, which received more laughs out of the young female doctor. Wilson did not seem nearly as amused.

"Twenty-five," Thirteen finalized, "And you'll make it convincing."

"You got a deal."

Although a little annoyed by the fact that House was haggling money over a kiss with him, Wilson couldn't help but be a bit impressed by House's persuasion skills. After all, he had managed to earn himself one-hundred and seventy-five dollars within only three minutes. Of course, Wilson would expect his share later.

"What do I get out of this?" Wilson asked.

House and Thirteen looked over at him, surprised.

"Well? He asked as if it were only evident that he'd want in on it, "You expect me to let this jackass deflower me without my own incentive? I might be a kindhearted, giving person, but I'm not nearly_ that_ selfless."

He looked to House for an answer. In reply, his friend agreed to pay him half of the two-fifty, but wanted to keep the extra twenty-five. Wilson was perfectly fine with that.

Still, the rest of the team was waiting for results. Knowing so, Thirteen obnoxiously pointed to the mistletoe and put her hand on her hip so that it appeared like she was arguing with them. Truthfully, she was telling House that he'd have to be the one to make a move, because nobody believed that Wilson would do it. Especially since Wilson had already failed to kiss the man once before.

Quickly, House grabbed his cane and wrapped it around Wilson's neck, pulling him in so that he could plant a kiss right on his lips. House lingered there for a moment, and then backed off. As soon as the cane was no longer around his neck, Wilson stood up and made a disgusted expression, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I really didn't think he'd do it," Foreman replied rather coolly, leaning against the service desk.

Taub just stared, unbelieving of what had just happened while Chase threw his fist into the air victoriously. Thirteen was also silently cheering herself on, but remained calm as she walked back to the men awaiting her arrival.

"Pay up, boys."

Foreman and Taub gave Chase three-hundred dollars each, and then did the same with Thirteen. Although Chase had technically won more than she, Thirteen found herself content with it. After all, a small win was better than no win at all. Plus, she got to have a little fun with it. Turning back towards House and Wilson, she saw that the two of them were already divulging in another friendly conversation. Not wanting to interrupt House's rather happy mood, she decided it would be best to pay the men some other time.

"So, House… You wanna talk about this?" Wilson asked, going back to the subject they were on before Thirteen had arrived.

"I'm not big on talking about my feelings. You know that, Wilson."

"I know. We'll have to work on that," He replied, wrapping his arm around House's shoulder.

"Yeah."

"I just want to make it clear. I mean, I want you to clarify- for me- what you see this as."

"I dunno," House replied, "I just… I understand that it's more than what it used to be."

"I'm not just a booty call?" Wilson asked jokingly.

House shook his head.

"So, what am I?"

"I said I dunno!"

Wilson retracted his arm, letting out a stressful sigh. Even when House was trying to be compliant, he still ended up being stubborn.

"Just say it," Wilson replied.

"Say what?" House asked.

"Boyfriend."

"Yuck," House replied childishly, "It's just too…superficial."

Wilson furrowed his thick eyebrows in frustration, wondering if that was the correct word.

"I think you mean superfluous," He replied, "You think it's too superfluous, don't you?"

"No," House immediately argued, "Of course not, Wilson."

"What is it, then?"

"It's just…"

"Yes?"

"You're my boyfriend? I mean… It just sounds weird to say. Boyfriend. See, the actual word sounds perfectly fine, but then when I say "Wilson is my boyfriend," it sounds weird. The word makes me feel overwhelmingly Sapphic. "

"Uh, yeah. That's normal."

"No, it's not. I'm not a stereotypical gay who talks with a very feminine voice and dresses in deep v-necks and skinny jeans while carrying around a satchel and wearing makeup."

Wilson couldn't help but laugh at House's dreadfully judgmental image of the common homosexual.

"Just say it, already."

House rolled his eyes, feeling ridiculous.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I haven't asked you out, yet. So I obviously can't consider you a boyfriend."

"…"

"So, will you go out with me, Wilson?" House asked quietly, so as to make sure nobody else heard him.

Wilson was the one to roll eyes this time, annoyed by House's need to make everything so complicated and tedious. But,yes, of course he would go out with him.

"Great," House replied, "You'll buy me dinner tomorrow. That'll make it official."

"_What_?"

* * *

_**Say hello to the longest chapter so far! I dunno, I just had some fun with this one. Anyways, I just wanted to check in and say hello and thanks to all of my readers/followers/reviewers. Hope you enjoy...and I'll get the rest of this done as soon as I can. Hilson FTW!**_


	9. In the Mood for Italian

Wilson drove into the parking lot of a large restaurant named _Stephan's Italian Dining, _and parked his car in the first available parking space he saw.

"Go ahead," House said, "I'll meet you in there."

Wilson didn't seem the harm in waiting, but decided not to ask any questions. He yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, shutting the door before making his way towards the restaurant entrance. House sat motionless until Wilson disappeared. After he was sure that Wilson couldn't see him, he reached into his blue book bag and pulled out a medium-sized box. It was similar to the type that somebody would keep an engagement ring in, but almost two times larger.

After stuffing the box into his leather jacket, House got out of the car and made his way into the building. Once he was inside, he looked around for Wilson. The busyness made it difficult to find anyone.

"Can I help you, sir?"

House looked over at a young female hostess. Her name tag said Mandy. She had dark red hair, blue eyes, and splotchy freckles all over her face.

"I'm looking for my..."

House trailed off, furrowing his brow. He was contemplating whether or not to use the word. Mandy just stared at him, impatiently tapping her pen on a clipboard until he finished his sentence.

"My boyfriend," House replied.

"What's his name?" Mandy asked, trying to hide the surprise at his confession to being gay.

"Wilson. Er…James Wilson. Has he been seated yet?"

Mandy didn't answer. She looked down at the clipboard she had been holding, using her finger to sort through the list for a Wilson. She found the name and location at the very bottom of her list.

"Wilson, party of two," She mumbled to herself.

Looking up from her list, she gave House a bright smile. He didn't smile back.

"Table 17," She replied.

House blandly thanked her, and then asked which direction that would be in. She offered to lead him there, and then walked off without waiting for a response. House followed her through a maze of people and dining tables. They found Wilson seated at a booth against the back wall of the restaurant. He smiled at the sight of his companion, and then thanked the hostess for her help. She simply nodded, then left them alone.

"How the hell did you get seated so fast?" House asked, taking a seat across from Wilson.

Wilson shrugged; acting like it was sheer luck. Truthfully, he had slipped the hostess a hundred-dollar bill. The place was busy, but he wanted to make sure that House enjoyed the evening. Even if it meant wasting a Franklin so that they didn't have to wait to get seated.

"So," Wilson continued, "How was your day?"

House grunted. His day had been horrendous. It had been irrevocably dreadful. Cuddy had decided to punish him for neglecting work all of the day before. She didn't fire him or suspend him, though. No, she took a much crueler approach. The woman revoked all of his case rights for two weeks. Then she gave him mandatory clinic work to keep him occupied for fourteen days.

Today had been his first day on such conditions. He had worked in the clinic for almost nine hours. That meant nine grueling hours dealing with nothing but patients who were coming in with the sniffles, or a cold, or maybe even just a headache. It was the worst kind of punishment House could think of.

"Sorry about that," Wilson said.

House shrugged it off, asking Wilson what he had done today. It wasn't like him to be social and actually listen, but he'd try.

"You don't really care," Wilson said, giving him a charming smile.

"Yes I do."

Wilson gave him a look of skepticism.

"Okay, maybe not." House replied.

"I don't mind."

"You could still tell me," House said, "And I could _pretend_ to listen."

Wilson laughed. What was the point in that? He might as well be speaking to a brick wall.

"What's so wrong with having an actual conversation with somebody? Why can't you just sit down and socialize like normal people do?"

"I would," House explained, "But you bore me."

"Thanks," Wilson said flatly, "You make me feel very loved."

"Well you do! All you do is whine about bald little children."

"I don't whine," Wilson argued.

"Oh, you whine. You whine like a five-year-old."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Not!" Wilson hissed.

"Stop whining about not whining."

"You're such a child."

"You're such a child," House mocked, clearly trying his best to annoy Wilson.

Luckily, a waiter interrupted them before the argument could get any worse. He stood at the edge of their table, asking if they would be interested in anything to drink. Wilson ordered a glass of water, House a cup of coffee. The waiter hastily scribbled the order onto a small pad, and then walked off. Wilson turned his attention back to House, who had calmed down.

"It's like nine-thirty," Wilson said, "Why do you want coffee?"

House smiled suspiciously.

"I plan on staying up quite late tonight."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

Of course, the subject of them having sex created another disagreement between the two doctors. An argument about who was the man in their relationship. House declared that he already possessed the title, but Wilson disagreed. House said that he rightfully owned it because he had asked Wilson out. Wilson argued that he had been the one to convince House to do so. House argued that he had made the first move, but Wilson- of course- told House that they wouldn't have had a chance to kiss if he had never stumbled into House's office because of a silly dare that night. House argued that he deserved the title as man because he was older…

And then Wilson finally made the winning argument.

"Mine's bigger." He said.

That was all he had to say.

House opened his mouth to say something, but knew that he had just lost. Wilson raised his brow and smiled, quite satisfied with the reaction. Still, he felt bad at the defeated look in his companion's eyes.

"Nobody's gotta take a title," He replied.

"You cook, clean the dishes, and blow-dry your hair," House said, "Even if you won't admit it, you're already the woman."

Wilson tilted his head to the side and thought about it. House had a valid point. He was the one enriched with better culinary knowledge. He was the one who did the dishes, too. And- yes- he blow-dried his hair. Maybe he _was_ more fit for the position. There was no way in hell the man would admit it, though. He just shrugged it off, deciding that there was no need to linger on the subject.

"Anyways," Wilson deflected, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

House laughed inwardly, telling him that he was probably going to stay home and drown his sorrows with hard liquor. He didn't use those exact words, but Wilson knew him well enough to understand.

"That's… unhealthy." Wilson replied, looking sincerely concerned.

House shrugged. It was the same routine every year.

"House, ya know…If you want to come with me to my parent's tomorrow…"

House looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Okay," Wilson replied, "Forget I even asked."

The waiter arrived with their respective beverages. He carefully placed them on the table, and then left after Wilson thanked him. House watched the man walk away, catering to a family of seven sitting on the other side of the restaurant. Wilson took a sip of his water, and then let out a sigh.

"So… no cases? For a whole week?"

House turned his attention back to Wilson.

"Two," He replied, "Two weeks, and she's forcing me to work in the clinic for at least seven hours a day during those two weeks."

Wilson shook his head disapprovingly.

"I don't see why it's that big of a deal," The oncologist replied, "You've done worse things than hide for a day. You've done _much _worse things."

"I dunno. I just don't understand that woman."

"And she actually expresses her feelings," Wilson teased, "How do you think she feels about _you_?"

House sighed. A thought came to Wilson's mind.

"Speaking of Cuddy, could I ask you something?"

"I guess."

"I just…" He struggled to find the right words, "I just want to clear some things up. I mean, I thought you were into Lisa, but you're gay. I mean, you surely acted like you wanted her."

"I did," House explained, "I wanted her for a long time. I slowly started to lose interest, though. After a while, I realized why."

It was a simple answer, but Wilson was willing to accept it.

"I just wondered."

"No problem."

Wilson took another drink of water, draining half of his glass before starting up another conversation. He asked his companion how the team was. He received nothing more than a shrug and reassurance of their good health. Wracking his brain for something else to talk about, he found himself asking House how his mother was.

"She's fine."

Wilson gritted his teeth, becoming frustrated with House's inability to elaborate.

"How's she dealing with your father-"

"That man wasn't my father," House argued in a slightly hostile tone.

Wilson stifled the urge to role his eyes.

"How's she dealing with John's death?" He corrected.

"I don't know."

"Okay…"

Realizing that the atmosphere had been thickened by awkwardness, House reached into the left pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little black box he had stuffed in there earlier. Without saying anything, he put it on the table. Wilson eyeballed it curiously.

"It's for you," House explained.

Wilson looked up at House, and then back at the small box he had been offered.

"Go on," House urged, pushing it towards him.

With much caution, Wilson picked the box up and shook it.

"What is it?"

"I got it for you. Since you're a generous idiot, I knew you'd buy me something. I mean, you do every single year, even though I tell you not to. Anyways, I wanted to repay the favor. I want you to open it tonight, though, because I won't let that god-damned Jesus think that I'm acknowledging his birthday."

Wilson studied the box for a few moments more, and then flipped it open. His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of what was inside.

"This is…"

"Just something I picked up," House modestly replied, "I thought you'd like it."

Wilson took the silver watch out of the box and scrutinized it. It was a silver Milgauss edition Rolex, complete with orange hour markers and a white dial. The case was trimmed in gold, and water-resistant up to 330 feet. It was one of the most elegant accessories he had ever laid his eyes on.

"This had to be expensive," Wilson said, looking up from the gift.

"Doesn't matter," House replied.

"This is Rolex," Wilson said, looking back down at the watch, "We're talking about a lot of money. Especially with the gold trim."

"Just put it on."

House was good at hiding it, but he was overjoyed by the fact that Wilson took such interest in it. He watched with much pleasure as the man took his old watch off and carefully opened the clasp on the new Rolex. Wilson wrapped it around his wrist and held his arm up for House too see.

"It's great, House. I love it."

House smiled bashfully.

"Seriously," Wilson continued, "This is really nice. Thank you."

"No problem."

On that note, the waiter arrived to take their orders.


End file.
